


Begin Again / Recovery

by decidueye



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Borderline Personality Disorder, Emotional Dysregulation, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Mental Health Issues, Other, Recovery, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 14:17:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13683399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decidueye/pseuds/decidueye
Summary: everyone is capable of growth in time; people who are meant to be still have to work to be themselves.





	Begin Again / Recovery

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gift work for [katt](http://kattmydear.tumblr.com) as part of the bokuaka valentines exhange; your prompt was very open so i ended up putting something of my heart into this - i hope you don't mind the exposure to it.
> 
> thanks to robin for the beta, the inspiration, and the courage to learn enough about myself to be able to write this in the first place.

Koutarou curses when he figures out the person at the other side of the coffee shop he’s been mooning over for half an hour is Akaashi. They’re almost impossible to recognise, but of course Koutarou is still drawn to them. The way they pass their left thumb over the knuckle of their right forefinger when anyone talks to them is unmistakable, and once Koutarou has noticed that, all the pieces keep falling into place. Akaashi’s hair is longer, and it must be pinned back in places, but it’s still something of an untameable mess of curls on top of their head, and the irritated crease that forms in their brow when they move to tuck it behind their ears makes Koutarou wonder why they bothered with bangs at all. It’s a familiar frown, though, one he’s had aimed at himself more times than he could count, and Koutarou is certain now; there’s no one else it could be.

Akaashi is wearing a skirt. The sight sends Koutarou for a second spin, even though he knew that they wanted to, even back then. Seeing it makes him indescribably happy, but it aches too, just a little bit. Koutarou can’t help but wish that he’d been around to witness whatever changed to give them the courage. Even more so, and perhaps selfishly - it’s okay to be selfish sometimes, Koutarou reminds himself - he wishes that he’d been the one who’d helped them find it.

When Akaashi leaves, their stuff is still spread across the table.From Koutarou’s usual table across the room, he’s too far away to see what’s on the papers that are scattered around Keiji’s coffee cup - their third, so that habit hasn’t changed - but he itches to go over and look. They seem busy. They should have graduated by now. Maybe they’re doing high level accounting work for some important company. Koutarou wonders if Akaashi is allowed to wear skirts in the office. He hopes so.

He shouldn’t approach them. Koutarou’s therapy sessions have drilled coping mechanisms into his head, only 70% accepted but still present. He knows he’s not the only one responsible for the way their relationship turned sour, and he doesn’t even spend much time wrapped up in guilt over it anymore, but that doesn’t mean that some of his choices weren’t hurtful, and he has to accept their outcomes. Nothing good could come from dredging up that hurt - not for him, and not for Akaashi, either.

_ Except closure, maybe. _ . The remark comes to Koutarou, unbidden, in Dr. Umeda’s voice, but he knows he might be tricking himself, so he puts the thought aside for now, frowning into his tea.

Koutarou hasn’t changed at all. That’s not true - he’s changed a lot, an incredible amount, and he shouldn’t play it down, even to himself - but physically he’s still the same. His hair is down, but the colour is the same, black streaks in platinum blonde that make him stand out, because Dr. Umeda says it’s okay to use things like that to hold onto your sense of identity, and it’s not a sign of weakness. Akaashi must have noticed him when they came in: he’s not in one of the booths and everyone in the shop treats him like family, enough for any customer to notice him. He’s here all day on his days off, because it’s warmer and more welcoming than his flat, and the owner once referred to him as the son she’d never had.

(Koutarou had had to leave early that day to run off the burst of energy his embarrassed joy had given him, and written it down so that he’d remember to tell Dr. Umeda. It’s good to have a place that feels like home.)

If Akaashi saw him, then they’d definitely recognise him, and they must have seen him… which means they don’t want to speak to him. It hurts, but Koutarou has learned a lot about respecting boundaries in the last five years, and if he won’t get to speak to them again, he at least wants them to see how much he’s grown.

He feels a little smug about it, actually. Akaashi had never told Koutarou that they thought he couldn’t change, but when they left it had felt like they’d given up on him, which was basically the same thing.

_ “You can’t put words in someone else’s mouth, especially when you’re emotionally involved in a situation,” _ Dr. Umeda scolds Koutarou in his mind. He’s not ready to believe himself just yet, so thinking in Dr. Umeda’s voice helps him process things the way he’s supposed to. “ _ It’s fine and reasonable to be hurt by their lack of an explanation, but if you let yourself provide one it’ll probably be more disparaging than the truth. You have a habit of finding reasons to hurt more _ .”

He’s not wrong. Koutarou rarely thinks of Akaashi anymore - until now, anyway - but for the first year after their break up he had done nothing but replay their arguments and wonder what he could have done to make things right. It took two years before he was able to admit that Akaashi, too, had made mistakes. 

But that’s irrelevant now. Koutarou has moved on - he has, no matter how much Akaashi’s sudden appearance might be trying to undermine that - and so has Akaashi, clearly. He shouldn’t approach them; he shouldn’t destabilise everything he’s worked for, or whatever Akaashi has built that Koutarou might ruin.

_ “You can’t  _ ruin _ anything for anyone else, Bokuto-san. If anything, you don’t have that much power over someone.” _

Suddenly Dr. Umeda’s voice is starting to sound a lot more like Akaashi’s, and Koutarou slaps his cheeks, drawing the attention of the nearest employee just as Akaashi exits the bathroom.

The next events play out in slow motion, piling one on top of the other in a succession Koutarou is sure has to be the product of some cruel, divine intervention. First Kinomoto laughs at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair.

“Got stuck in your head again, Bokkun? Let me get you a hot chocolate.”

Koutarou slaps Kinomoto’s hand away gently, embarassed by how easily he’s been read, and when he looks back towards Akaashi’s table they’re stood at its side, staring at Koutarou and silently mouthing the word ‘Bokkun’. Koutarou panics, squeaking and jerking up so fast that his knee slams against the table and he’s forced to sit back down, swearing the whole time at the pain. In the background, Kinomoto is still laughing, and Koutarou wonders if he’d have an ounce of sympathy if he knew exactly why this situation was so humiliating.

Akaashi begins gathering their things and Koutarou groans. He hadn’t wanted to disturb them. He hadn’t thought that his presence would be enough to drive them away - if he’d known, he would have left an hour ago, even though as a regular, the coffee shop should be  _ his _ space.

Akaashi’s papers slide into a worn leather satchel alongside their tablet, and they throw their coat - black, tailored, elegant - over their arm. Koutarou lowers his head, not wanting to see the door close behind them.

“Bokuto..? Bokuto Koutarou?”

When Koutarou looks up, Akaashi is standing in front of his table. Their fingers grip the back of the chair opposite him, and their hair has fallen back over their face, but they make no attempt to brush it away this time, instead looking at him expectantly.

They’re waiting for a response. Koutarou twitches, banging his knee again, and offers a grimacing smile and a wave.

“That’s me.” For a moment he thinks about playing dumb, but he’s not that kind of person anymore. He faces his fears off the court as well as on it. “You  _ are _ Akaashi, right? I wasn’t completely sure.”

A little embellishment is okay, though, if it gets him out of having to explain his hour-long staring session. Akaashi exhales, a harsh puff of air that almost sounds like a laugh - but Koutarou can’t remember Akaashi ever laughing so nervously before.

“Well, I have changed a fair amount…” They chew on their lip, avoiding his gaze, and finally tuck their hair behind their ear. A nervous habit? An agitated one? Koutarou shouldn’t ask. “It’s understandable. I look-”

“Great!” Koutarou spits the word out in a rush and then kicks himself under the table. He shouldn’t interrupt. “You look great, I mean. Sure, different, but - it suits you.”

“Oh,” Akaashi stares. They gesture to the chair they’d been holding onto. It’s a wonder their nails haven’t left marks. “May I…?”

“You…? Oh! Yes! Please...please do. I mean, if you want to, of course, uh. Can I get you a drink?”

Akaashi begins to shake their head, and Koutarou holds his shoulders carefully straight, refusing to let them slump.

“Actually…” It’s just as hard not to let himself perk up at the hesitation. “I do have time. Decaf, if that’s alright?”

Koutarou’s surprise must show on his face, because Akaashi laughs, explaining without prompting. “I’ve heard that caffeine makes me...agitated. I thought it helped with my temper, but since cutting down I’ve learned quite the opposite.”

“I remember,” Koutarou says, and hurries to correct himself when Akaashi flinches. “I mean - me too, you know?  _ You _ remember. I got hyped up on it so many times… haven’t had coffee for - uh - more than a year now. Anyway, when Kinomoto comes back I’ll get you that. He’ll just put it on my tab, it’s ok.”

Akaashi hums. They look small in the seat, hands braced against the table like they’re ready to run at any moment. Koutarou laces his own fingers together, squeezing tightly.

“Kinomoto...You come here a lot, then? It seemed like he knew you.”

“All the time,” -  _ but not too often -  _ “Well, it’s close to my apartment. What about you?”

“It’s my first time here. It’s nice.”

Koutarou nods, and keeps nodding as the silence drags on. He swallows down words he knows he shouldn’t say; feels mad at himself for wanting to cry; feels proud of himself for not giving up and doing it. Akaashi laughs and Koutarou is jolted out of his head once more.

They always had a beautiful laugh. Koutarou used to be one of the only people who got to hear it unrestrained.

“I haven’t heard anyone call you ‘Bokkun’ since high school. They must love you here.”

Koutarou knows he’s not supposed to shrink at the word love - to dismiss compliments when they’re offered, because it encourages negative thinking - so he grins instead, and it doesn’t feel as forced as he expects it to.

“Well, you know me…” he says, not thinking about the fact that they don’t anymore. Akaashi raises an eyebrow and he laughs, getting the joke. “What? I’ve gotten more charming as I’ve aged, I swear!”

Akaashi doesn’t counter him, which makes Koutarou’s stomach tight in an unusually pleasant way, and the silence that follows this time is still awkward, but less stifling. Kinomoto brings his hot chocolate, and he must have been eavesdropping because there’s a decaf and several pointed looks that accompany it. Koutarou ignores him until he goes away pouting, and it’s impossible to tell what Akaashi thinks of the whole exchange. He hopes it’s something good.

“It seems ridiculous to ask how you’ve been,” Akaashi says with a sigh when Kinomoto is out of earshot. “You look...well.”

“I am. I’m well, I mean,” Koutarou hesitates. Where’s the boundary between openness and oversharing, again? “Now, anyway. It’s been a long time, you know? Things were...things happened. But these days I’m good.”

Koutarou can’t take his eyes off Akaashi’s knuckles, red from the pressure of their fingers. Their discomfort puts him at ease.

_ “Is that selfish?” _ he asks the Umeda-Akaashi inside his head.

“ _ Maybe. Mostly it’s just human _ .” 

Akaashi sighs, nodding, and there’s something hidden behind their eyes that Koutarou can’t identify. They open their mouth to speak, then close it again and take a long drink. Koutarou waits, adjusting his hands in front of him until he finds a posture that feels welcoming. It’s important to give people time and space to express themselves.

“I’d like to hear about it,” Akaashi says after a while, so fast that they’re done by the time they’ve placed their mug on the table. Koutarou is still processing when they continue. “I’d like to hear about all the things that have happened. What you’ve been doing, or - whatever you’re willing to share with me. Not now, though.”

“Not...now?”

“No. It’s - well, we’re both surprised, and I was in the middle of -” they cut themself off, and Koutarou wants to beg them to continue. What’s Akaashi doing now, anyway? Other than fixing Koutarou with a stare that feels all at once too strange and familiar. “It’s alright - well, you don’t need my approval but I  _ understand _ \- if it’s too much...but I’d like to give you my phone number?”

Koutarou is so overwhelmed he can’t respond, so he pulls his phone out of his pocket and throws it across the table. Akaashi makes no comment on his lack of speech, just smiles as they enter their number and continues as if nothing has happened. They leave soon after, and it takes all of Koutarou’s strength to croak out a goodbye - a “see you soon”, no less.

Kinomoto demands the details as soon as Akaashi is out of the door, but some things are too precious and too fragile to share. He rests his chin on top of his mug, warm and sticky like the sensation in his throat.

“They’re just an ex,” he mumbles, and Kinomoto scoffs.

“No way they’re ‘just’ anything,” he says, and Koutarou can feel his face turning red. “Let me know how it goes, anyway.”

**

Koutarou has rules about texting so that he doesn’t become overwhelming, and even though he’s desperate to break them, he distracts himself with a workout and a kid’s film - the kind that doesn’t take too much concentration but still leaves you feeling warm, no matter how old you are. When the film ends, he doesn’t immediately text Akaashi because he doesn’t remember to, and after sending a quick introduction he puts his phone on the other side of the room, settling down with a book and counting pages until he’s too engrossed to remember why he was restless.

There are five notifications when Koutarou finally remembers to check his phone (five chapters later, and he’s feeling dehydrated, but that’s a problem that can easily be solved). Three of them are messages from Akaashi. Koutarou scrolls through them with a sense of delighted confusion.

<< _ Thank you for messaging me. I’m glad we got to talk earlier and that you’d like to more. Are you free for dinner next Wednesday?>> _

_ <<It really was nice to see you. I hope that was clear - I’ve been told I can seem a little stand-offish when surprised.>> _

_ <<If dinner is too much, please feel free to suggest another option. I want us both to be comfortable.>> _

They chat back and forth for the rest of the night; it’s okay for Koutarou to break his texting rules if someone else does first. Their plans feel like a date, but to Koutarou, anything done with Akaashi would probably feel like a date, so he shakes that off, refusing to ask for clarification. Akaashi doesn’t offer it, either, and it’s with a small note of pride that Koutarou realises the ambiguity doesn’t bother him too much.

Akaashi is considerate, funny and apologetic on the screen. They even use emojis. It’s not like they’d never been these things before, but there’s something new about it. Koutarou starts to think that maybe he’s not the only one that’s dedicated the last five years to personal growth, and wonders if he had anything to do with their decision to change.

**

Koutarou gets changed three times over the course of the day before he realises he’s getting too worked up about it. Everything feels wrong, all the way down to his underwear - and he’s kidding himself if he thinks there’s even the slightest chance that Akaashi will be seeing  _ that _ . 

It’s not even a date. Not really. But the address Akaashi texted him is in an area he doesn’t visit often and they’d told him they were ‘excited’ this morning, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting to make a good impression.

He allows himself a bath instead of a shower, taking the time to smell the citrus in his soap and pat himself dry. Afterwards, he practices deep breathing for ten minutes, stretches until the tension in his limbs begins to loosen, and then picks out a final outfit, shoving a coat hanger between the handles of his wardrobe to deter himself from changing his mind.

He still wants to, but he doesn’t, and forty five minutes later he’s sitting across from Akaashi at a fancy looking grill bar, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he tries to think of something to say that won’t embarrass him.

Akaashi is smiling at him; Koutarou had made peace with the fact that he would never see that again, and yet here they are. They’re probably not regretting inviting him here if they’re smiling.

“It’s cold outside,” Akaashi remarks, and Koutarou bites down harder on his cheek to prevent himself from laughing - he  _ really _ never thought he’d hear Akaashi make small talk.

“It is,” Koutarou agrees, and he mustn’t have been able to hide the amusement in his voice, because Akaashi grimaces, flushing at their own awkwardness.

“Sorry, I’m-” they say, and then stop, tugging on a strand of their hair. Now that it’s longer, the curls bounce, and Koutarou thinks he could watch it for hours. “Is it weird for me to be nervous?”

“A little bit,” Koutarou replies. He’d promised himself he’d be three things this evening: honest, kind, and strong (with regard to his boundaries). He has them written down on a piece of paper in his trouser pocket. Akaashi frowns. “It’s strange for me to hear, I mean. Because you were never nervous about anything before.”

“I was. I just wasn’t very good at admitting it.”

Koutarou studies Akaashi over the table. They’re wearing a chiffon blouse that fits them perfectly, and a blazer that looks like they’ve been wearing it the entire five years they’ve been apart. The sleeves are frayed, and Akaashi probably thinks he can’t see them tugging on the loose strings. Their makeup is subtle, but immaculate; Koutarou doesn’t think that they were wearing any in the coffee shop. It looks...really good. Impressive, like Koutarou supposes it’s supposed to be. 

Keiji finally looks up from studying the menu, and Koutarou laughs in a way he hopes comes across as reassuring.

“Looks like someone else promised to be honest tonight too, huh?” he says, taking a big gulp of the beer he’d ordered. Akaashi looks too serious. It was supposed to be a joke.

“I wouldn’t ever want to lie to you, Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou is having difficulty swallowing. Eventually, he manages.“Let’s - let’s not do that. And no ‘-san’, either, god, it’s too-” -  _ painful - “ _ bizarre. Besides, if we met in any professional capacity I’m sure I’d be the one calling you ‘-san’ now, anyway. You know I dropped out of college.”

“Me too,” Akaashi says with the smallest of smiles, and it grows when Koutarou sputters, choking on air.

“What?”

“I dropped out. The year after we… Well, I realised... “ Akaashi hums, closing the menu and resting their hands on top of it, fingers pressing down on knuckles, “...a lot of things, but to cut a very long story short, I wasn’t at university for myself. My parents were surprisingly supportive when I told them, after they’d taken a few months to process it.”

“Huh…” Koutarou’s mind is reeling. The image he’d built up in his mind - perfect, successful Akaashi, continuing upwards in life as they left Koutarou behind was shattered, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore. Who it is he has to prove himself to.

_ “They’re right in front of you, Bokuto,”  _ Dr Umeda chides, “ _ were you really expecting to have dinner with an Idea?” _

_ “ _ You’re shocked,” Akaashi says. It sounds like they’re taking pleasure out of it. It must be fun to catch the ex you left behind off guard. “Everyone was, even me. I don’t regret it, though. Sometimes I think about the apartment I could be living in, but that’s all.”

“So what do you do now?” Koutarou asks. All calculations are out of the window now - curiosity has taken over. “I saw all the papers - uh, not that I was looking much…”

“I have a small book shop.” Akaashi is as graceful as ever and chooses not to call him out on his slip, probably for both of their sakes. “When I have time and money I’ll probably go back to school. Publishing would be nice.”

“Woah,” Koutarou exhales, jolting at Akaashi’s inquiring look. “It’s just - you’re so calm. Settled. Even with a ‘probably’.”

Akaashi laughs quietly, bittersweetly, and Koutarou knows they’re both remembering the same things. They go to say something, but then the waiter is here to take their order and Koutarou is distracted by a whole new set of social interactions.

_ Try to say it correctly, but it doesn’t matter if you screw up. The waiter won't remember who you are in three hours. _

_ No one’s going to judge your meal choice - they’re here to sell food, and you’re here to eat it. _

_ Breathe, smile, say thank you. You made it. _

He turns his attention back to Akaashi, who is unfolding the napkin in front of them with a careful precision. They look up, catching his gaze, and smile almost sheepishly, as if they’re embarassed.

“‘Probably’s are hard,” they say, referring back to what Koutarou had said before. He’d almost forgotten. “You - well, you said you didn’t want to do this, but I know you remember - but I’ve had some practice getting accustomed to them. They can be kind of fun, actually.”

“That’s what I always said!” Koutarou protests, indignant, and Akaashi’s smile widens.

“I know,” they tell him. “You were right.”

Koutarou inhales sharply, knowing that giving voice to his surprise would be received as a cheap joke, even though it’s anything but. Akaashi seems braced for it, though, and when he doesn’t comment their shoulders fall, relaxing. Koutarou hadn’t noticed that they’d been tense until then.

They talk about their orders, about the restaurant and the only time Akaashi’s ever been there - ‘with a friend from Group’, they say, and their matter-of-fact tone tells Koutarou that he’s not supposed to ask what Group is - when they’d eaten yakiniku and it had been delicious.

“It’s what made me think of this for you,” they say. “I know your tastes might have changed, but I suppose my reflexes haven’t. Is it still your favourite?”

“It is,” Koutarou says with a grin. They remember. Koutarou tries not to ascribe meaning to that - Akaashi’s memory has always been good, after all. “I’m just not having it today because I have a pretty strict meal plan.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah - nothing like a diet, I’ve been on a lot of those and, uh, they were never - they didn’t work out for me. But making sure I get enough protein and stuff. I’m still a personal trainer, so… and the routine is really good for me, even with something really basic like food.”

“I don’t think it’s basic,” Akaashi says. They’re leaning forward on their elbows, blinking slowly like they’re digesting every word that comes from Koutarou’s mouth. He doesn’t want them to waste their time with that, but it’s their choice, he reminds himself, and it feels good to be paid attention to, and he’s not demanding it. Not this time. “Will this cause a problem?”

“No, no!” Koutarou shakes his head rapidly, and Akaashi nods once - relieved? “It’s okay to treat myself - the balance is important, but it’s up to me to maintain that. I’ve worked it out, it’s all good.”

“I’m glad...I didn’t want you to go out of your way for me.”

“I think you’re the one who’s going out of their way, paying for a dinner like this. How many times did you text me? You must have looked at a lot of places.”

Akaashi flushes, and Koutarou feels a victorious surge in his chest at having caught them out.

“I wanted it to be right,” they say. “I still have trouble with that sometimes. But - with something like this, I think it’s alright not to fight it, because...it’s rare.”

“Mm,” Koutarou agrees, delighted when the meal arrives in front of them and digging in. “Oh my god, this is  _ amazing _ ...but wait, you fight it sometimes?”

Akaashi does something noncommittal with their shoulders, chopsticks tapping against the side of their bowl. “I try.”

“How can you do that, though, if you want it to be right? Can you really let things be wrong - how do you know it’s okay?”

Akaashi looks at Koutarou, and he watches their chest rise and fall as they swallow a mouthful of noodles, chewing on them with their thoughts.

“It took me a long time...an embarrassingly long time, probably. You always told me - but I figured out that my right isn’t the same as everyone else’s, and if it costs me - or others - more than it’s worth, it’s okay to let it go.”

They sigh, and when they go to have another mouthful of food, the hand that holds the chopsticks is shaking. He’s upset them.

Koutarou chews in silence for a while, talking himself through his guilt in his head. They didn’t have to answer; they didn’t have to share that with him, and if he  _ had _ upset them, surely they would have said something? He’s still unsure, and so he does one of the scariest things that Dr. Umeda has told him he should do - he asks.

Running a hand through his hair, Koutarou laughs nervously. “Sorry, I kind of made things deep there, huh…? It’s a big question for you, I know.”

Akaashi has almost finished their meal; it’s kind of comforting to see that their appetite hasn’t changed in spite of anything. They purse their lips, but their expression isn’t hostile, and it’s hard for Koutarou to breathe but he doesn’t feel like asking was a mistake.

“Deep is...fine,” they tell him. “Deep is good. I wanted to share with you...the things I’ve learned.”

Akaashi pauses again, and Koutarou is on the edge of his seat. He can’t keep eating, not now. They laugh, looking up at him, and their eyes are full of something that Koutarou has no idea how to comprehend.

“It’s pretty selfish, actually. When I saw you I thought about how much you must hate me, and I wanted a chance to apologise. Whether I deserve it...well, that’s subjective, not for me to decide, or so I’ve been told, but still. I wanted to show you what I’ve learned about myself, and how much I’ve changed.”

“You thought I hated you?” 

“Of course. The way I reacted...when you were in pain - we both were, but I took mine out on you, and I didn’t give you the chance to grow,” Akaashi gestures to him with a soft exhale and a smile that could contain something like pride. “You’ve clearly done so well without - ah, well, without ‘me’ is self-centred, but I’m sure you understand.”

Koutarou is rigid with disbelief. He’s not sure, but he thinks his body might be shaking, and he feels like he’s floating several meters above his own head. He reaches out slowly for the glass of beer, feels the cold glass against his palm, and drinks carefully.

_ Bitter, fizzy, cool in my throat. Foam on my lips. Kind of gross, but it’s a habit.  _ Koutarou pulls himself back inside his ribcage, reminds himself he has to respond.

When he opens his mouth to speak, though, he laughs instead. It’s loud and not really appropriate for the setting, and he’s dimly aware of the people in the booth next to them looking around, alarmed, but he’s not embarrassed. There are bigger things to focus on.

“Me not growing had nothing to do with you,” he tells them. “Just like - that, whatever made you realise enough to do all of that - has nothing to do with me, right? Maybe a little, but it would happen anyway, on it’s own. It just wasn’t the right time. I had a lot of shit to figure out. So did you, apparently. I never even noticed.”

“You just thought I was an asshole for no reason,” Akaashi says dimly, and Koutarou laughs again.

“No, I thought you were  _ great _ . Perfect. Demanding and mean, sure, but just so  _ wonderful _ that it had to be my fault, I couldn’t live up to your expectations and it was hurting you.”

“Expectations? I didn’t -” 

Koutarou holds up a hand, stopping Akaashi in their tracks. “I know that now. I mean, it’d be nice to hear that from you some time for real, but I don’t want to forget my point. I never hated you - not really, although I convinced myself I did for a little bit. We hurt each other, but we didn’t  _ scar _ each other. We already had all of the wounds we reopened when we were together.”

Akaashi has laid their chopsticks on the table, and they’re staring at him with an open mouth. Koutarou feels breathless, but he also feels free, and it's with a sudden ache that he realises he doesn’t  _ mind _ what Akaashi’s response to this is. He has an ideal outcome, of course, but mostly he just wants them to know.

Akaashi’s mouth wobbles. Their lips are perfect, just as they always have been, and they look best when they’re curving upwards, biting down just a little on the smile that threatens to break out.

“That’s...incredibly wise, Bokuto,” they say. There’s something in their voice that worries him, and Koutarou is surprised to notice that their eyes are wet when he looks at them. “When did you get so wise?”

“Therapy,” Koutarou answers bluntly, and he’s delighted when they laugh. It’s the laugh of someone who can relate, and if he hadn’t guessed by what they’d been saying before, he knows for sure now; Akaashi got help too. He’s glad.

“You’re right, though...and I hope you know just how right you are,” they say, fixing him with a serious gaze. Koutarou can feel the heat flooding his cheeks - of course they know it’s much easier to apply all that to Akaashi than it is to himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Or rather, we both did a lot of things wrong, but it has nothing to do with who we are. You weren’t bad for me. It just wasn’t the right time.”

Akaashi’s gaze is too honest; it’s too much. Koutarou looks down at his meal. He has one bite left, maybe two if he makes them small. Akaashi won’t order dessert if he’s not going to have it and even though Koutarou’s mind is reeling right now there’s one thing he’s absolutely sure about: he doesn’t want this to end so soon.

One bite, maybe two. Not much time to evaluate if the urges he’s feeling are impulses or not.

_ “Not all impulses are bad, Bokuto. I know that seems a little counter-productive to think of right now, when you’re learning to control them, but it’s human to take risks. You just have to realise that acting on your urges is a  _ choice,  _ and not an inevitability.” _

Koutarou makes a choice.

“Is it now?” he asks. Akaashi doesn’t understand, so he takes a deep breath, tries again. “Is now the right time?”

The next silence feels like it lasts for an eternity. Koutarou takes the last bite of his meal, chews, swallows. There’s no going back now.

Akaashi smiles. They reach across the table and take his hand. Koutarou’s thumb passes over the red of Akaashi’s knuckles; they’re not as rough as he expected.

“I think we’ll be able to find out.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> a quick note: the coping mechanisms described here are a mishmash of various things i've learned over time, but come primarily from Dialectal Behavioural Therapy, which is currently one of the leading treatments for mood dysregulation disorders such as bpd. bokuto has made them his own just as i have, but i highly recommend looking into it if you recognised any of the struggles depicted in this fic.
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/deciduice) and [ tumblr](http://deciduice.tumblr.com).


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